


SickFic

by SmilesMcGee



Category: Flight Rising
Genre: M/M, get sick? get fucked, will add the characters as they come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 11:53:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16974129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmilesMcGee/pseuds/SmilesMcGee
Summary: A collection devoted SOLELY to Sick Fics because I got a ton of these sent my way





	1. Var/Dubhghlas

Dubhghlas sniffed, head pounding slightly. He’d been zoned out and staring at the far wall for a while. A hand touched his forehead and he startled, pulling back and whipping sideways to blink at it’s owner. Var placed his hand back and held it there.  


“Mmhm. Thought so.” He sat back down in his chair. “You’ve got a fever.”   


Dubhghlas squinted at him in annoyance, “Is no a fever. I’ve been out in the sun, that’s all.” 

He immediately got an eye roll in response. “You’ve got a fever. You’re usually like… impossibly cold, and you haven’t been outside for almost an hour. Probably shouldn’t go running around in Ice without a jacket so much.”

Dubhghlas tried to stand up but wobbled and immediately fell backwards onto Var’s bed where he’d been sitting. “Shit..” He put his head in his hands, massaging his temples slightly with his thumbs, vision swimming. “I’m not sick…” he mumbled. 

Var picked up his coffee and took a sip, completely used to patients (especially this one) being in denial about sickness. “Mmhm. Sure you aren’t. And I can’t fry an egg on your head.”

Dubhghlas groaned into his hands, “What would I even do? S’no like I can just take an absence or anything.. There’s too much out there right now.” 

The doctor sighed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes a second time. “You could. You really could. I think you’d find the clan would be more than happy to give you the time off you needed to recover.”

Dubhghlas just groaned again in response, not even bothering to look up, still hard pressed to accept that it actually _was_ a fever and not just residual heat from being outside. Var sipped at his coffee, watching him sitting uncomfortably on the edge of the bed. 

“Do you want to sweat it out?”  


“Huh?” Dubhghlas pulled his head out of his hands, looking confused.  


“The fever. You can sweat it out. Helps it pass.” Var shrugged at him, “Just an option.”  


“What so I should like… go sit in the baths? Or go jog? Aye, that sounds miserable..”   


Var shrugged, “That sounds excessive. I just figured we could fuck it out of you.”

He almost choked on his spit, “I’m no doctor, but that seems less than scientific, honey.” Var just shrugged in response and put down his coffee. 

“Well I _am_ a doctor and I’m not going to offer again.”  


Dubhghlas was silent a moment but eventually shrugged. “Alright. Can’t really hurt to try.” 

“Say it without licking your lips, and I might actually be inclined to believe you didn’t want it so much that you’re already getting hard.” Var stood, closing the short distance, and placed his hand on Dubhghlas’s forehead again. “What kind of a doctor would I be if I didn’t help a patient so obviously in need.”  


Dubhghlas shivered. Whether it was at his words or with the fever, he didn’t really know. The closer Var got, and the longer he held his hand to his head, the warmer he felt. Gods, maybe he really _was_ sick.

“Take your brace off. And your shoes. But leave your shirts on.” 

Dubhghlas pulled them off as quickly as he could, watching Var pull off his own clothing out of the corner of his eye. Even though they’d become friends, the doctor still scared him some, and the row of spines peeking out slightly from his back didn’t help. He shivered again.

He rolled onto his back when Var walked over, more than happy to oblige. His head was still lightly hazy, and laying down on his back made his head swim so much it was impossible to ignore.

“Woah…”   


Var pushed him the rest of the way down, gently but firmly, and swung a leg over his waist to straddle him. The prep was easy, clinical almost. Dubhghlas’s good leg was pushed out from under Var and up some, and he couldn’t help but wiggle some as slick fingers pushed into him. Sure, he got around, and pretty much always had. But it didn’t make the warm-up feel any less good or any less exciting. 

He breathed hard, hips pressing up, and was met with a firm push downwards. “Stop it. You can do that later. Let me get you ready or this isn’t going to go well for you.” 

He gulped, face already shiny with a small amount of sweat as the heat of arousal met the heat from his fever. Var finished and wiped his fingers on Dubhghlas’s shirt. He didn’t hesitate, lining up and pushing into Dubhghlas almost immediately with a small grunt. 

Dubhghlas gasped, hand coming up to grab at Var, attaching to his arm when there was no clothing to be found. 

“You alright?”  


“G-Good…” He jerked slightly, “S-Supposed to be sweating, right?” He gave Var a grin, goading him. Var’s only response was to push in and out slowly a few times, testing. Finally he looked down at his patient with a smile. “Ready?” Dubhghlas nodded, a hand creeping up to wrap around his throat lightly, holding him in place but not squeezing. “Good.”

Var pushed in quick and rough, snapping his hips into the body below him as it writhed and squirmed, Dubhghlas lightly gasping for breath. He watched carefully, noting how red Dubhghlas was and how much shinier he got with every passing thrust.

_Hmm.. Not enough._

Var thrust hard one last time before stopping, earning him unhappy whines and a hand wrapping around his wrist with want. He pulled away completely, reached to the side for the covers, and wrestled them down from beneath them. Var pulled them over their heads, covering them completely and creating a small cocoon of air. He laid down, nearly chest to chest with Dubhghlas if not for their differences in height. He licked a small stripe from the side of Dubhghlas’s neck and pressed back in, the cloth covered chest of his patient heaving beneath him. 

Hands came to wrap around his back as he fucked into Dubhghlas. It was the perfect chance to let out pent up tension, and he found it hard to hold back the longer they went. Lucky him, this one wasn’t very breakable.

Dubhghlas’s breath came in shallow gasps, the pocket of air becoming unbearably warm. He no longer had any doubts this was a fever. His head burned, his skin screamed, and the sweat coated both of them, causing his hands to slip from Var so much it was impossible to hold on.

He babbled, some in Draconic, some in his home tongue, and some in no real language at all. Gasping for Var, “H-Honey- please-”

Eventually he gave up, unable to do much more than lie there, head swimming, limbs heavy, air barely breathable, consumed by the feelings of lust and the warped filter of fever. If his senses weren’t on fire, he might have fallen asleep that way, he figured.

In truth, he didn’t fall asleep so much as he passed out. Teeth sunk into his shoulder, and he felt what had to have been another orgasm push through him, and he followed the wave into nothingness. 

Var came almost immediately after, shuddering his own peak into Dubhghlas with firm thrusts. He pulled out and rolled over, panting, snorting slightly at the passed out figure under the blanket with him. Well, if that didn’t raise his temperature enough to break the fever, then _finally_ getting some rest would probably do the trick. The doc reached over to smooth out Dubhghlas’s rumpled shirts a bit, and patted his face fondly once or twice. _Hmm. Sentiment. Gross._  


_I don’t have a fever, my_ ass. 


	2. DustedWeb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor 'ol Web is full of denial, but can you blame him? He can't really afford to get sick right now.

Web coughed into his claw for the fifth time in as many minutes.

He pulled a crumpled piece of fabric from his pocket and grimaced as he wiped them on it. His dad looked over at him, pausing and placing down the boards he was carrying. “Y’gettin’ sick, Dusty?”

He shook his head, “No. It’s just allergies.”

Keleya grunted in response. “Okay. Dun’ be gettin’ sick on me.” He picked the board back up, holding it in place as he carefully dug through the bag of nails tied over his flank. “Need y’ t’help me finish this before them shadow critters start poppin’ up again.”

Web sighed and finished tying the wire on the fence they were building. “I’ll be fine, dad. It’s just the grasses, really.” 

He got another grunt, the rest of the work passing in relative silence. Webster coughed through most of it, trying his hardest to stifle them. _Damn these allergies._

When it got too dark to continue, they parted ways, Keleya flying off to finish putting away his supplies. Web considered getting dinner at the Los’aak, but decided against it, heading home instead. He just didn’t feel up to it. His nose tickled and his throat stung. He didn’t know exactly what he was allergic to, and figured the Doc could probably tell him if he went in, but he really just didn’t have the time for that. 

Getting home, he collapsed on his bed, thankful that there were no hatchlings around to care for just then. His joints ached and his head felt sore. _Hard work will do that. Like dad always says, “It hasn’t been a useful day if you’re not sore at the end of it.”_

He sighed, rolling onto his side, tucking his tail beneath him. He wasn’t sick. It was just a cough. A cough. With a nose so stuffed he could barely breath. And a weird rattle. And maybe just a bit of pain. Only a twinge, really…

Web sat up quickly. He _wasn’t_ sick, damn it! It was allergies! Being sick meant not being able to perform his duties. It meant not being able to watch out for the nests and for Muiria and not being able to finish the repairs and additions the clan needed before the dead of winter. 

Uncle Teacher was not, and _could_ not, be sick.

He stood up, puttering around the house with an angry sort of determination, muttering under his breath as he picked things up and put them away. Productivity was important. Could he clean if he was sick? No. So there.

Web stopped as another coughing fit overtook him, made worse by being held in so long during his work earlier in the day. He coughed the last few coughs into his shred of fabric, unconsciously checking it for discoloration before putting it away. 

With a sigh he went back to cleaning his lair, thinking to himself about the implications of sickness (not that he was sick, mind you) and what it meant. He was a plague dragon, sickness was normal. You lived with it. It came, it went, it was just… a part of life. Complaining about it was weakness, and what was worse was it would be like a rejection of a gift! Given to him by the Plaguemother! 

He nodded to himself, putting a few books away. Last time Clot had gotten sick he’d nearly died with _joy_ not with sickness. And, not that he was sick or anything, because he wasn’t, but if he _was_ then he’d be an idiot to think anything of it or to let it stop him in any way.

He caught a flash of his face as he walked by the mirror, eyes glowing deep and red under his hood. His namesake of a pattern crossing his deep, dark hide and leaving it’s cobwebs everywhere. He paused, caught staring at his own reflection.

Were those… _his_ eyes? 

They were too sad for that. He shook his head, sniffling as his “allergies” clogged his nose again, sneezing as he headed out the door.

It was time to find Muiria, she’d been out roaming long enough. Hopefully she’d already eaten so he could get her to bed quickly, he didn’t think he’d be upright much longer, and as much as he cared for the tiny mirror, he didn’t think he’d be able to keep up with her antics that night.

He sighed and closed the door behind him, walking out into the night.

_Damn these allergies…_


End file.
